Facing The Music
by irinab
Summary: the story of Tron-Legacy in oneshots, based on the order of the OST on my iPod set on 'shuffle'.
1. The Game Has Changed

Facing The Music

Summary: Tron Legacy, retold in the order of the film's soundtrack set on shuffle on my iPod.

Characters: all

Ch. 1: The Game Has Changed

The Grid. The Digital Frontier. That's how Kevin Flynn had always thought of it. Things had been different, then. Back then, he, Tron and Clu were united as one team with the same goal.

That was then.

But starting with Clu's takeover, things had gone quickly downhill. The ISO's, Tron, and Flynn's exilement to the Outlands.

This was what Sam had been thrown in the middle of. Not only had the game changed, but so had the rules; the players found themselves changing, too. Examples of evolution and survival of the fittest at its best.


	2. The Grid

Ch.2: the Grid

It had all started with three words: "I got in." In the beginning, it had been an achievement, something to be proud of. Never did Flynn imagine back then, that he'd be so eager, waiting for The Chance to leave it. But there he was, stuck in the Outlands, waiting for something he truly thought he'd never see—that tall beacon of light that the I/O tower made, piercing through the otherwise dark skies of the Grid. And so, day after day, cycle after cycle, he stood there on the balcony of his hideout, watching. From there, you could see _everything_: the rocky shapes of the Outlands, the Sea, and though far in the distance, the city itself, with its glowing structures and population.


	3. End Of Line

Ch.3: End Of Line

End Of Line Club was a bright and busy place. It was at the top of the tallest tower on the Grid; out its windows one could see for miles. This piece of information seemed trivial to some, but to others it was the most vital information one could know. Why? Because being able to see for miles meant that you could _clearly_ see the I/O tower's beacon, signaling the arrival of a User onto the Grid.

But after The Coup, the beacon remained practically nonexistent, for many cycles. Until the Son of Flynn.

The owner of the club was Castor "provider of all entertainments and diversions", as he liked to introduce himself. The program had been around for many cycles, and even had fought with the ISO's during the time of The Purge. But as the game had changed, so did he, adapting to what was considered "acceptable" on the new Grid. However, he was ever observant; he often knew what was going on before the other programs even knew that there _was_ a *something*. With this knowledge, he often held trump cards in his hands; the important ones needed to play the game the way he did—by all the angles. He called it "reinventing himself." And he had. After all, he _used_ to be Zuse.


	4. Rectifier

a/n: figures, the theme that made me decide to write this whole thing takes forever, lol. anyway, i recommend listening to 'Rectifier' on the Legacy soundtrack, cause that's where i got the sounds from.  
>:)<p>

Clunk

Clunk

Clunk

Shluuub!

Clunk

Clunk

Clunk

Shluuub!

While Sam had gone to get the disc, Flynn decided to have a look-see aound the place. And what he saw wasn't good by _anyone's_ standard, except Clu's. He followd the sound and discovered that was responsible for doing Clu's bidding…the Rectifier itself. At the moment, it was in standby mode, quietly clunking down a preplanned path. But he could still imagine the resistant programs going down that path, with the Rectifier in full operation…

_**Clunkclunkclunk sliiiide!**_  
><em><strong>Clunkclunkclunk sliiiide!<strong>_

The machine's frantic pace almost replicating Clu's insatiable need for perfection at any and all costs, his dogged determination, the angry, scared frenzy he imagined the programs going through as their fate drew nearer and nearer, unable to a thing about it…..

Flynn mentally shook the images from his head as he came out of his reverie, the machinery back to its quiet

Clunk

Clunk

Clunk

Shluuub!

He had to leave the area; and just in time too—he saw Sam run across with something (his disc?) in hand, spot Flynn and run towards him with the game plan: "I'm a User, I'll improvise!" And father and son made off to the portal.

Clunk

Clunk

Clunk

Shluuub!

Clu stood on the platform, proudly facing his army. _His_. He'd done it all himself, without the help of any Users, and _especially_ without the help of the Creator. He felt accomplished, pride swelling in his chest at what he created. However, unlike a certain User (cough**FLYNN**cough),_ he_ wouldn't give them directives and leave them to figure it out for themselves what he meant, or just plain abandon them altogether. In Flynn's absence, he was in charge, and had to do what was in the best interest of the Grid and its programs. And as far as he could see, the best thing to do in this situation was to be the opposite of their Creator; if he promised the world to them, you can bet your lightcycle Clu was going to deliver.

Out there was their future, their destiny, a new hope.


	5. Derezzed

…as the End Of Line tower lit up, Clu's prearranged signal…

"This is going to be quite the ride…" and boy, Castor wasn't joking. Too bad it didn't guarantee any help from him. As Clu's Black Guards literally, crashed the party, Sam felt like kicking himself. Or Castor, Zuse, _WHATEVER _the guy was calling himself! Oh well, at least he made it clear that he plays whatever angle saves his ass the best. Fair warning.

With that final thought, Sam sighed and pulled out his disc. _Well, if that's the way you wanna play, try this on for size! _

"I used to believe in Users…" Castor drawled in his mocking tone. Sam glared and grit his teeth.

Surprisingly, (or maybe not) there seemed to be several programs still sympathetic to the User cause and were taking on guards as best they could while Gem stood by a laughing Castor. Still, you could tell it was soon to be a losing battle, things quickly going downhill. Everywhere Sam looked, he could see Guards derezzing the resistance. It all seemed to be pretty much shot to hell…

Until suddenly, there was a dark, hooded figure whose very presence stopped the proceedings in its tracks.


End file.
